


Road Trips and Closets

by seoyoff



Series: who let these kids have a youtube channel [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Baby crows (briefly), Coming Out, Dialogue Heavy, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting (???), I used google maps just for this stupid roadtrip, I'm already dreading the Christmas fic, I'm also on a deadline here, Joel Adams (???), Laurens Siblings, Multi, Overuse of the phrase "no comment", Rated teen for language, Road Trips, Stupidity, Thanksgiving, Trans Alexander Hamilton, Youtuber AU, and kind of sexual themes mixed in but, if you've read the rest of this serious you're probably used to that., ooh bby i can be your artisanal chicken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-08-26 06:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16676653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seoyoff/pseuds/seoyoff
Summary: John Henry Laurens, as of October 28th, is twenty two years old. This meant he had the privilege (and curse) of blasting Taylor Swift’s, “22”, whenever he wanted, and it also meant that in about fifteen days, John had to come out to his parents.in which there are road trips, shenanigans, and me trying to put more depth into these characters and failing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> prepare for more feelings than usual idk, enjoy the chapter.

John Henry Laurens, as of October 28th, is twenty two years old. This meant he had the privilege (and curse) of blasting Taylor Swift’s, “22”, whenever he wanted, and it also meant that in about fifteen days, John has to come out to his parents. 

Well, Dad and step-Mom, but Eleanor’s amazing, and has been around for longer than he knew his actual mother, which is sad as hell, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that. So, parents.

Of course, John didn’t _have_ to, but if he didn’t, he’d lose $22.00 to one Alexander Hamilton, as well as his pride and incentive to actually tell his parents that he liked boys.

Because no matter how many times he flung himself off of a rooftop-not in _that_ way, he didn’t do that anymore-or faced down an angry animal at the shelter, he couldn’t find whatever guts he was missing to come out of the closet.

Now, the contract-they’d wrote a goddamn contract, because _of course_ -stated that John could back out, because pressuring someone to come out like that wasn’t good at all. However, John was never good at backing down from any kind of challenge, so some point during his visit, John was going to get over himself and tell his parents that he likes boys.

He wants his parents to know. His father might’ve been at work all the time, forced them to go to church, but he’s _Dad_ , and there’s a small part of John that’s still fourteen and scared as hell, but still wants his family to be there on his wedding day-if there is one in the first place.

Another part of him doesn’t want to go home at all. Other than the looming threat of being disinherited, South Carolina also holds other bad memories. Like that situation, with his (former? John isn’t sure if she’d take him as a best friend anymore) best friend and at-the-time fake girlfriend, that he’s been ignoring for the past half-decade or so.

Nobody ever said that John has never been good at facing his problems.

Alone, that is.

 

* * *

 

“Come with me for Thanksgiving.”

“ _What_?”

John cringes, because of course this is a dumb idea, dragging down _Alexander Hamilton_ of all people to South Carolina, but-

“Well, you don’t have to come, but in my defense, you’re the one who dared me to do this, so I just thought I’d drag you down with me.”

“I mean, that makes sense, so sure? I wasn’t planning on doing anything other than laying in bed making videos and calling you every hour to see if you came out.”

“Brilliant, so I guess it’s settled?”

“Yep. So, how are we introducing me to your family? Am I the best friend? The tender lover?”

Alexander says the strangest things off camera.

“Ew, tender makes me think of artisanal chicken or something, not a lover. We’re introducing you as resident disaster.”

“Ooh, baby, I can be your artisanal chicken.”

The _darndest_ things. It wasn’t fair, or healthy, that John’s heart regularly started racing out of nowhere, just because Alex said something. Or existed, in general. But honestly, _artisanal chicken?_

“I’ve created a monster.”

“Ah yes, a mixture of the word, ‘tender’, and your accurate, but wounding insult, created the monster I am today. I’ve been broken.”

“Bless your heart.”

“Isn’t that something southern grandmothers say to mock people?”

“No comment.”

 

* * *

 

So they’re set. Alex agreed to go, John’s already going, they should be fine.

Except like a lot of jobs, when you’re about to go on vacation, you have to do extra work before vacation to make up for the time you’re going to miss. Alexander’s fine, he only posts every seven months-”I resent that statement!”-but John posts every other weekday, so pre-recording is in order.

The Schuylers and Maria are invited over, a flour bag explodes-Peggy swears it was the dog, but John saw her messing around with it, or maybe Angelica, hell, it could’ve been all four of them-they leave after cleanup, cookies in hand, video filmed.

Nine to go, ten to edit.

The second one is just John trying to train Junior in increasingly strange tricks, from rolling over to carrying around an American flag, because, as Alex said, “I fucking love America!”

Eight to go, nine and a half to edit-Alex took over editing half of the first video, because he’s an angel-well, not usually, but-

The third one involves Alex (as always), Hercules and Lafayette, a story about how they got together, which is embarrassing, and the only reason he got them to be in it was that they thought they’d be designing scrapbook covers.

“So I get a text from John, right? It’s really bizarre because it’s literally just, ‘HE WAS RAMMING IT IN HIS BUTT SO HARD ALEX HELP’, and so I ask him to explain, and…”

“It’s disturbing how well you remember this, _ami_.”

“Hercules had the audacity to text me later that he’s, ‘Still straight, OK?’, as if…”

_Seven, six, five, four, three, two-_

By the last video, three days later, they’ve resorted to just filming them editing on John’s bed while talking about anything that crosses their minds.

“Hey, have you ever thought about what would’ve happened if you didn’t punch that bursar?” John asks, looking up from his laptop screen.

“We wouldn’t have met, duh. I would’ve gone to Princeton. Or maybe not, because they’re fuckin’ dicks, but I digress.”  
“Shit, man.”

“But also, I have a theory that there are people you’re _always_ going to meet, no matter what. Like, maybe me punching that bursar made me meet you faster, but we would’ve met anyway. Just at a later time.”

That was… Deep. John tells Alex so, and he gives a little chuckle at that, before continuing his tirade.

“Or, we could’ve met earlier. I could’ve just hitched a ride on one of Steven’s boats and gone to America in fourth grade or some shit, traveled up to South Carolina somehow, met the cutest freckled being in existence and kicked ass with him way before we started college.”

“Aw, you think I’m cute?”  
  
“I said you were cute in fourth grade, you’re ugly as shit now.”

There’s no verbal response, just John flinging a pillow at Alex’s face. The video continues filming their pillow fight, before they eventually think to stop for a minute and shut off the camera.

* * *

 

 

It’s hard to believe, but they adopted a whole ass dog a week ago, and they obviously can’t leave her alone in the house, so after asking around, they drop off Junior at, of all people, Jefferson’s house. The Schuylers always go upstate, Lafayette is heading to his weird pseudo-parents’ house, and Hercules is visiting his huge ass family. So, at Lafayette’s suggestion, and much complaining from Alexander-”He likes magenta. People who like purple, and all variations of purple, are proven to be elitist assholes!”-they’ve just finished leaving.

“I can’t believe we just left our _daughter_ at someone’s house for like, two weeks. Not just anyone, though, someone with a fucking mac and cheese fetish!” Alexander’s still complaining, because _what the fuck_ are they thinking? Even at Lafayette’s recommendation, Thomas Jefferson is still a massive dickhead.

“It’s not like we have another option, Alex, at least it’s better than leaving her at Petco or something. Besides, Jefferson eats mac and cheese one time, and suddenly he has a _fetish_?”

“He brought it in his stupid tupperware containers every debate meeting, of _course_  he has a fetish, nobody consumes that much mac without jerking off it at night! Also, doesn’t the shelter you volunteer at do a pet hotel or something?”

Something dawns in both of their eyes at the last sentence, and all of the sudden, they’re yelling at the top of their lungs-it’s what they’re best at-trying to figure out _why the fuck_ they didn’t think of that before.

“Wait, fuck-”

“Why didn’t we think of this-”

“Before, yeah, what the fuck?”

They’re running over each other's sentences, two boys standing in the middle of the sidewalk, wondering if it’s rude to take back their dog. Eventually, they decide it’s not worth talking to Jefferson again, so they go home, praying to god that Junior doesn’t come back to them refusing to eat anything but whatever the fuck rich people feed their dogs.

So yeah, they’re set. All they need to do now is actually _get_ there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the road trip!!! writing an eleven hour road trip (technically twelve) in two hour increments makes this a 13-ish page long document. you're welcome. i'm just trying to get this chapter over with.

**2:56 AM**

 

In the early hours of November 15th, Cassidy Heron looks up from her (finally) asleep baby boy, and glances out the window to watch the people in the apartment across from hers. She gets a little worried, sometimes, about who she’s dubbed as, “Dark Circles”, who’s hunched over his desk most nights, regardless of when she gets up. 

Well, not always. Sometimes she sees another boy-dubbed “Curly”-come in, coax him to bed, and crawl inbetween the sheets himself. Other mornings, she observes as Dark Circles just faceplants onto his desk, falling asleep from sheer exhaustion. 

This morning, it’s the latter, and she almost turns away to go back to bed, when she notices Curly entering the room. Strangely, instead of herding Circles back to bed, he appears to be quietly going through his closet, opening his drawers and-oh, he’s packing a suitcase. They must be going somewhere for Thanksgiving. 

Sweet, that Curly’s doing that for him. Letting Circles get some much needed sleep, until-

Until Curly trips over the suitcase, and Dark Circles jolts up from the desk, falls out of his chair, and onto the floor.

 

**3:03 AM**

 

“What the  _ fuck _ ?”

“No comment.”

“John, what the hell are you doing in here?”

“No comment!”

Alex had been writing and apparently, fell asleep in the process, only to be rudely awakened for whatever reason-somehow tied to John, who Alex noticed was face down on the floor-and had fallen off his chair in the process. This was, decidedly, not good for his lungs, because he was currently wearing a binder, but there are currently more pressing matters at hand. 

“John Henry Laurens, you are not allowed to, ‘no comment’, me,  _ explain, _ goddamnit.”   


“Well, I was trying to pack your bags without waking you up-lord knows that you need the rest-and I tripped over your suitcase?” John drags out the last part, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

So Alex, because he’s a little shit, starts laughing his head off. This sets off John, and now they’re laughing on the floor at 3:00 AM, because everything in this situation-from John’s morning hair to the fact that it’s just a little too early-is fucking  _ hilarious. _

“And they call  _ me _ the mess.”'

John snorts. “We’re all messes, you're just the easiest mess to make fun of."

Something in John’s face clicks again-oh goddamnit, Alex knows that look-as if he’s remembered something.

“Yo, I was going to ask after you woke up, are you still wearing-”

"My binder, yeah. It's whatever, you don't have to remind me."

John gives him The Look, and yes, he can take an obvious hint. Alex  _ isn’t  _ stupid.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” He sticks his tongue out at John, who waggles his fingers at him in return.  _ Shithead. _   
  


**7:12 AM**

 

Coffee’s in hand, bags in the back, they’re set for the eleven hour drive. Alex is driving first, with the reasoning that John’ll take the second shift, which will include his, y’know, _ hometown _ , which he’ll be better at navigating. 

“You wanna turn on some music?” John asks from the passenger, looking a little too chipper for having woken up around 3:00 in the morning. It might be the coffee, it might be some magic John Laurens Grade A Bullshit-hell if Alex knows.

“Turn on that giant playlist you have, the one with like, 500 songs.”

John hums as he pulls up Spotify, and Joel Adams starts humming through the speakers. 

“You know, I think the humming bits are the good parts. They’re the parts everyone knows, too.” Alex says. He used to like this song, felt a kinship to it. Being alone in the bedroom, with no company but your own thoughts, waiting for things to happen, hoping that they stay.

“Whaaat? I’ll admit that the humming is the best part, but I wouldn’t say they’re the only good parts. Why do you think so?” John looks over at Alex, he feels his gaze more than he sees it, but  _ I have to keep my eyes on the road. _

“I used to relate to it, liked it a lot. But I’m just… Done waiting for people. I have things to move onto, there’s more to life than sitting in bed waiting for someone to stay when nobody does.” Alright, Alex,  _ tone down _ the abandonment issues. You’ve only just started driving, and you’re already getting in way too deep.

_ Most nights I hardly sleep when I'm alone  _

_ Now please don't go, oh no  _

_ I think of you whenever I'm alone  _

_ So please don't  _

_ Please don't go _

“Hey, I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but-I’m not leaving, ok? Even if everyone else does. You and I, do or die, right?” John’s quiet as he says this. It’s not tranquility, the air’s tense with the unanswered question of how Alex will answer. 

Silence.

“Fuck, man, it’s only 7:00 AM and you’re getting all cheesy and shit.”  Alex chuckles, and it’s a little sad, but he takes a hand off the wheel, grabs onto John’s hand from where it’s on the armrest, gives it a squeeze.

“You’re the one who started it!” John grins, and Alex gives him one in return.

“I might’ve started it, but you’re the one who made me feel all sappy and shit!”

“Hamilton, keep your eyes on the fucking road!”   
  


**9:49 AM**

 

There’s been a lull in the conversation, a comfortable quiet after several rants, a few jam sessions, and John’s (futile) attempts at sketching in the car. 

Until, well,

“You ever wonder about crows and shit?”

_ What the fuck, John? _

“Whaddya mean?”

“I mean like, have you ever seen a crow nest? Or a baby crow at all? It’s always like, finches and shit. So where do they come from?”

“Eggs, and nests, like all other birds?”  _ Duh.  _

“But have you ever  _ seen _ one.”

“Typically, birds nests are off the ground, in trees, or in New York’s case, shoved into neon signs and whatnot.” It’s not like Alex isn’t used to John asking strange and questions, but honestly, _crows_?

“I’m gonna search it up.”

“Alright, you do that, I’m gonna drive.” John’s not listening, he can tell, but Alex also doesn’t really care.

“So I’m reading this article, and apparently there have been pictures going around the internet of Not-Crow-Babies that people are posting as Crow-Babies, and it’s popular because these lil’ fuckers are actually really cute and fluffy, as well as, y’know, black, which people mistake as being crow children.”

“Ok, so what do they actually look like?” 

“I’m getting th- _ holy shit _ .”

“What?” It’s not really a question, because most likely John has found out some cool fact about crow babies (perhaps that they hatch as fully fledged adult crows, due to flexible eggs? Alex isn’t sure if that’s true, but that would be a cool fact.). Or it’s the other reason.

“They’re so ugly. I love them.” The latter, then.

“You love all animals, John, I’m unsurprised.”

“No, you don’t  _ get  _ it. These fuckers are hideous-I have to show you, pull over.”

“John no, we’re trying to get to your house _ before _ midnight-”

“Pull  _ over _ . Just for a minute, I swear.”

“Fine, I’ll look at your stupid- _ oh my god _ .”

Needless to say, they spent longer than necessary looking at various other ugly avian babies.

 

**11:25 AM**

 

They’ve stopped for lunch at some sandwich shop near Richmond, their planned switch-off point. The subs are good, but not particularly memorable. When Alex makes move to leave, John grabs his sleeve, looking a little sheepish.

“We should, y’know, rest here a little.” Alex raises an eyebrow at that, which is, ok, understandable. 

“I’m not arguing with you, but you have been sitting in the passenger seat of the car for the past five hours, and I was driving. There’s no viable reason for you to rest.”

But as he said, Alex isn’t arguing, so they sit on the curb for a while. John’s relieved, Alex is just happy to be out of the car for a bit longer.

“So, why are we resting here, if, as I mentioned, there is no reason to?” Alex asks. It’s not that hard of a question, which sometimes makes for a hard answer. It’s not fun, but he’s curious. They both are.

“Well, as much as I hate to say it, I’m stalling. Home’s got things going on that I’d rather not deal with yet. But I’ve been saying that to myself for like, five years, and I still haven’t dealt with it, even with me going twice every holiday season.” John’s a little quiet as he says this. It still surprises Alex, sometimes, that someone can give so much love, so openly, and yet choke up at the idea of saying anything about himself. John’ll tell you five times a day that he loves his friends, out of the blue, but when it comes to himself? He’s a wreck.

A wreck that Alex’ll normally make fun of, but John was less of a shithead than usual today, so he’ll let it pass. Also, he loves him or something.

“I get it-it’s not easy going back to the things you ran away from-that’s kind of, like, why you ran away from them.” It’s simple because they both get it, and they know the other gets it. There’s no need to say some bullshit metaphor, exaggerate how much they're, 'there', for eachother. 

God, if this is what a road trip draws out of them, maybe they shouldn’t spend so much time together. 

“Wanna count how many times we pass a country music blasting pickup truck now that we’re in, if 8th grade American history serves me correctly, the southern colonies?” John cracks a smile at that, which makes any thoughts of them spending time apart fly off.  _ God, can a boy get any more stunning? _

“You’re such a nerd.” John bumps shoulders with him as he says it, to which Alex grins back.

“You love it, and you’re going to join me because you’re also a nerd.”

John’s quiet, struggling to make a straight face, which just makes Alex grin even wider.

“You’re smiling, because you  _ know _ I’m right.”   
  
“No, I’m not!” If nothing else, the indignance in John’s voice proves it.

“Admit it already!”

“I will if you can beat me to the car.” John stands up, and Alex laughs a little because obviously, that’s never going to happen, but when he looks up, Laurens is dead serious.

“Wait-”

It’s already too late.

 

**1:36 PM**

 

“Ok, but everyone knows how this guy is a dickhead, right? This entire song is so creepy.” Alex chatters from the passenger seat, what he’s been doing for the past two hours.

They’re listening to, ‘You Will Still Be Mine’, from Waitress. Not on purpose, because nobody would ever want to listen to that song-unless they wanted creepy inspiration of some sort. 

“That’s kind of the point of the song, to really nail in the fact that her husband doesn’t actually care about her. Like, at the beginning, when he talks about his six-string guitar and doesn’t remember what she had-most likely because he never bothered to learn in the first place.” John patiently says. John’s always patient with him. Well, not always-even Laurens has his breaking points-but John is willing to listen to him, indulge Alex whether he wants to argue about which armrest to put your arm in, talk about whatever book he might be reading at the moment. 

Platonically, or, if Alex is _ really _ indulging himself, both platonically  _ and _ romantically, John does love him. You listen to the people you love, learn what they like and dislike, indulge them when they talk about things they love, even when you’re not even remotely interested in the subject. That’s not even the tip of the iceberg, with love, but whether it's your friends or your partner, your family, that’s a part of love. 

Alex loves John. They’ve got tons of similarities, yeah, but Alex is just as content to listen as John vents his frustrations about getting oil paints anywhere but the canvas-apparently, it’s hell to get off, compared to, what was it, arycles? Wait no,  _ acrylics _ , that was the word-or goes on for ages about animals at the shelter, exercise. None of these topics particularly hold much interest to Alex, but unlike Earl, Alex cares about Laurens, and thus, he listens.

Staring out the window at the passing wood, it’s a strangely calm thought. Normally, these kind of feelings make him flip his shit, but this isn’t some newfound revelation. He already knew this information, in a way. Right now, he just… Put it into words.

Fucking Waitress.

 

**3:11 PM**

 

It’s not so much of a second, as it is several seconds, chopped up and spaced into random intervals. Nyla’s too busy looking at the treeline to notice them-and why notice people in the car next to you, anyway? You’ll never see them again.

But something draws her to look into the-what, gunmetal brown?-Odyssey next to them. The view is a little unexpected, and despite the fact that she’s being a little creepy, what, with looking into someone else’s car, she keeps looking. You’ll take any kind of entertainment when you’ve been stuck in a car for three hours.

Two boys-Men? Whatever-are in the car, singing along to some song. That, she can discern from the subtle bass coming from their car, and the dramatically hilarious dance moves from the one in the passenger seat. 

Then, they take an exit, and it’s over.

It’s not much to go off of, but Nyla’s made a good story from less. As she settles back into the seat, she thinks for a while.

Maybe they’re a couple, college sweethearts. They’re on a road trip, because they got invited for Thanksgiving, and they’re happy, because they don’t have to worry about their family rejecting them for who they love. It’s good. The crazy-dancing one is preparing to propose to the one in the driver's seat-no, maybe they’re both planning on proposing, so it’ll be hilarious. Cousins and siblings,  aunts and uncles, will all be laughing at how they’re both just so in love.

Nyla lets herself relax in the story. She wants that for herself, someday-bringing a girl home for Thanksgiving, without a care in the world of what her mom thinks, because her mom learned from her mistakes, learned to accept her and love her for who she loves. 

It’s a nice thought, and it might just actually get her through her homophobic relatives this week.

Nyla smiles, for the first time in a while, because of the world, and how many cute girls there are in it.

 

**5:28 PM**

 

The sun’s starting to set, Alex is (finally) asleep in the passenger seat, and John’s quiet. He’s a little nervous. Of course, he told his family about bringing Alex, but he’s not entirely sure if they’ll be able to handle… Alex, in all of his, well, Alex-ness.   


A thought crawls into his ear. What if they’re transphobic? Well, no shit, they’ll be transphobic-not the kids, surely? He wonders about it for a moment, before deciding that Alex passes very well-he’ll just have to be careful and not get caught. There. See? Logic. Reasoning. It helps to assess the situation and its variables-for someone who hates planning and thinking ahead, John finds it a little helpful, to be organized.

He’s jolted from his focus when the sound of a call rings through the car, and he spares a quick glance to the screen.

Oh, Eliza’s calling. 

He hits the answer button, waits for the call to connect.

“Hey!” John can’t see her, obviously, but he can hear the smile in her voice. Eliza’s like that-well, to the public eye. Mostly because that’s who she is, but what people don’t see often is her sarcastic streak, that subtle, fierce intensity. She’s not a pushover, or even as cautious as people show her off as. She’s just as impulsive as the rest of them. Or, she would be, if not for the fact that she’s the second oldest of ten. 

Yeah, John was surprised too.

“Hey, Liz! How’s it going, are you in Albany yet?”

“Yeah, we just got here, and before you ask, yes, the kids are doing great. How are you? Home yet?” Laurens had to chuckle at that, because yes, he’s unnecessarily invested in the little Schuylers. They remind him of his own family. Just double the size.

He’s still not over the fact that they had ten children. 

“Nah, we’re about two hours away. Alex is passed out in the passengers, but you can yell at him if you want.” 

“John, I am not a shi- _ poophead _ like you two. I’m certainly offended that you’d suggest such.” Elizabeth Schuyler, acting all high and mighty, but Laurens can tell that her voice is full of mirth.

“Language, Liz, you have seven kids! Also, don’t you want to yell at your ex-boyfriend? How many opportunities do you get to do that?” This is fun. It’s easy to talk to Eliza. Teasing her, egging on that mischievous streak he _ knows _ she has. 

“You’d be surprised at how many opportunities I do get, actually. But I suppose, with my wholesome, all forgiving goodness, I suppose I’ll indulge you and yell at Alexander.” John snickers, sparing a quick glance at the-thankfully-dead asleep Hamilton.

“HAMBOY, WAKE UP.”

It’s priceless. John wishes he could’ve been recording, but alas, a drivers duty requires many sacrifices.

“The shit?” Alex is droopy and muted, the way he is when he’s only just woken up. It’s not like he’s sick, more like his brain hasn’t caught up to the rest of the world yet. Disoriented. Must be that way, for someone who’s usually leagues ahead of it.

“Great, you’re up! How are you, dearest ex-boyfriend?” 

“Betsy?” 

“Yeah-wait, Dylan!” A new voice, much younger, floats through the speakers. Dylan Schuyler, the middle triplet, and the troublemaker of the family. She takes after Peggy. 

“Who’s this, John? Awesome! Remember that time Eliza-Hey, I’m not done talking to-”

“Sorry about that-John Bradstreet Schuyler, you get back here this instant! Sorry boys, I gotta go-”

The call ends, and they’re both equally bewildered.

“Whaddya think Bradstreet did?” John asks, chuckling. It’s unfair that the poor boy got such an unfortunate middle name, but that’s all anyone called him. At least, in their circle. John is a common name.

“I dunno, but he is Peggy’s little brother, so whatever it was has gotta be good.” Alex grins sleepily, before cracking open at a yawn. 

“Tired?”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna…”

“Fall asleep, yeah.”

“Cya later, Laurens.”

“Sweet dreams.”

 

**7:01 PM**

 

They’re finally pulling into the driveway. It took twelve hours, which is two hours less than John thought it would take, accounting for all their, ahem,  _ completely  _ necessary stops. 

Pull in, turn the engine off, and they’re here. Well, they were, ‘here’, before, but turning off the engine, there’s a sort of finality about turning the key.

“Alex. Alex? Wake up dude, we’re here.” John shoves at Alex’s shoulder, only to be batted away.    
“Five more minutes.”

“Yo, shithead, you’ve been sleeping for the past two hours.” Actually, speaking of, he might want to film this. Quietly, he picks up his phone from the dash and begins to record.

“Fuck you.”    
  
“I’d say to name a time and place, but we’re going to be spending most of my time in a house filled with my younger siblings, so..." Alex finally looks up, with perhaps the most hilariously disgusted face, and John doesn’t regret deciding to record.

“Are you recording? Shit you. No, fuck. Ugh.” Predictably, Alex buries himself back under his arm, if only for a moment. The front door of the house bursts open as the Laurens siblings run out, and John steps out of the car to greet them, Alex close behind.

“John Henry Laurens, you are an hour off schedule. I’m unsurprised.” Mary Eleanor-or, Polly, as she’s better known-pokes him in the chest, grinning wildly. Fourteen years old, and she’s sweet, but as expected for all Laurens children, she’s also a little shit. John adores her. Usually. 

It’s easy to forget how terrible siblings are when you’re an eleven hour drive away from them. As close as the Laurens kids are, they are still siblings.

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, because Jemmy-or, James, he’s too ‘grown up’ for Jemmy now- has launched himself onto John’s back. This might’ve worked when he was nine, but James is now fifteen. It doesn’t end well, and it’s all Harry can do to step out of the way as John careens into (thankfully) the grass. 

“James Laurens, you little-”

“Watch your mouth, Jack, you’re in Carolina now!” James crows as he rolls off, laughing his ass off. James Laurens, coined as a, ‘Mini John’, by their father. John can’t tell if this makes them closer, or if he’s just too annoyed at dealing with, well, his own personality. 

Siblings suck. He hates them. Loves them, at the same time.

Harry offers him a hand as he picks himself off the grass, grinning. “Welcome home, John. Ready for Thanksgiving?”

Scoffing, he rolls his eyes jokingly. “Absolutely not.”

Henry Laurens Jr. Harry, for short, and lack of confusion. The nicest, perhaps quietest of the family. Most wonder if he actually belongs there, with how rowdy and rambunctious the rest of the bunch is, but they aren’t family, and they don’t see how Harry’s been rebelling for all seventeen years of his life.

As he looks up, John notices that Martha hasn’t greeted him yet. Funny, seeing as she’s his left hand woman, but he soon realizes where she is.

 

* * *

 

 

Alex is barely out of the car when a girl walks over to him, raising a skeptical brow.

“Alexander Hamilton. You’re shorter than I thought you’d be.” Alex wonders, briefly, that if he leaves this conversation without ruining all ties to the Laurens family, if he should introduce her to Peggy. 

“Martha, right? You’re taller than I thought you’d be.” Martha snorts at that, earning him a grin.  _ Score. _

“We’re all taller than you, it’s a Laurens thing. But let’s skip the pleasantries for now, what kind of dirt do you have on John?” There’s a glint in her eye, mischief in her smile, and it’s so John that he can’t help but grin. 

There is not a single doubt that this is John’s sister.

“You know about his YouTube channel?” 

“Obviously, but you’ve gotta have something that’s like, not on the internet, because it’s too embarrassing or whatever. You _ live _ with him, and he’s a  _ disaster _ . C’mon spill.”

“Alright, there was this one time…”

By the time John reaches his sister and roommate, it’s too late. They’re best friends, and if there’s one thing both of them love the most, it’s making fun of John.

“So, Jack, wanna tell me any stories from New York? Perhaps something touristy, like… The Empire State Building?” Martha Laurens, who’s deadly grin has not changed, not one bit. You'd think it would, with her being twenty one, but no, it's just as dangerous as it was when they decided to throw paint all over Harry because well,

It's a long story.

That's irrelevant, though. He’s been betrayed.

“Hamilton, what have you done?” John turns to him, ignoring the burning feeling on his cheeks.  _ Goddamnit, Angelica, why did we have to do that? _

“Oh, nothing, Martha’s just been showing me all these baby pictures.” Alex’s grin, less deadly, more smug. Goddamnit.

“Y’all are both dea-”

That’s when they bolt, and John realizes that bringing Alexander was a terrible mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment your thoughts! i hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alright,,, it's december and this stupid thanksgiving fic is finally over. it was a little rushed, I wasn't able to fit in all the plots i wanted to, but it's over. finally. there is a religious bit? i'm not religious but i've grown up around it and just,,, it's weird. this entire chapter is weird. there are some irrelevant bits about polly. i just wanted a pov change, jesus christ. i just hope you enjoy.

“As touching as this is, it’s fifty degrees outside, so I’ll have to ask y’all to come in.” 

The kids (and adults) stop chasing eachother on the lawn, snapping their heads to the new voice. There’s a woman standing at the door. She’s petite, curvy in the way mothers are, with curly, dark brown hair and smile lines. 

“Mom, nice to see you again!” John crosses the lawn, into her open arms.

“Alex, come over here. Eleanor, this is Alexander Hamilton. My best friend and roommate. Alex, this is Eleanor, my stepmother.” Alex shakes her hand, sneaking a peek to the rooms behind her. What he sees is comfortable, and definitely large. A subtle show of wealth, as opposed to a mansion out in the hills. He recognizes it, from hanging out with the rich-the majority of his friend group. 

Alex used to be elitist, classist-and it didn’t help that he wasn’t even wealthy himself. Hercules, as the only other close friend he had who also came from economic struggles, had not only been his first friend in America, but had helped him get over that kind of mindset. On the topic of elitism, Jefferson has never actually been elitist-he just enjoys the finer things in life. Truthfully, Alex is just guilty over how much of a shit he used to be-still is, really-and so he projects onto the Worst Human Being Alive™, Thomas Jefferson.

_ That’s irrelevant right now, Alex. Introduce yourself! _

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’ve heard lots about you from John, perhaps a little more than necessary on your cooking.” He smiles, and Eleanor smiles back.

“I’m sure of it, he’s got quite the appetite, our John?” John whines at that in the background, but as they shuffle into the house with their bags, he can’t think of a better way to start off their time in the Laurens household.

When they reach John’s room, they’re both quiet, and tired, despite Alex sleeping for half the trip. The walls are blue, perhaps due to paint, or maybe the moonlight drifting through the window. As he glances over to the twin in the corner, he notices that John’s sheets are not only bright pink, but Peppa Pig themed. He chuckles at that.

“Nice bed, Laurens.” Alex yawns as John sets up the air mattress. They could share a bed-not like they haven’t before-but John’s already on edge about being outed or something, so Alex honestly doesn’t mind. 

“Heck yeah, my sheets are the best. Wanna test them out, baby girl?” Strung out and tired after driving for six-ish hours, John’s still in the mood to tease, mostly evidenced by his waggling eyebrows..  _ Shithead. Stop making me blush.  _

“I’d rather not, with Peppa’s weird ass eyes.”

“I don’t normally have a six eyed pig on my sheets. Kind of a mood killer-it was probably James trying to embarrass me, but honestly, after being around our friends? I’m impenetrable.”

“There’s probably an innuendo in there somewhere.”

“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep, Hamilton.”

And so, they did.

 

* * *

 

 

The next few days when off without much of a hitch. Thankfully, Henry, trying to get his work done before the holiday, was not around much. It wasn’t that Henry was a bad person that John enjoyed his absence, but him not being around often was a great excuse for not coming out. He wanted all his family to be there.

So, in the meantime, they filled their days with tours around town, and general hijinks that were to be expected with the crowd they ran in-crowd being Alex, John, and John’s siblings. They’ve all grown quite close in the past week or so. Oh, and board games. Speaking of, it was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, and they were playing Uno.

“Polly, if you use that draw four I know you have on me, I will personally papercut not only your knee caps, but your achilles tendon.” Martha glared, but even she couldn’t hide the slight grin on her face. Even with everyone in the house being well over the age of ten, Eleanor and Henry still upheld their, ‘No swearing’, rule. Thus, they had to get creative with their insults. It was a sort of competition, to see who could verbally destroy the others. Alex was delighted. 

“I’d like to see you try. Draw four.” Polly lay down the card, and chaos ensued as the others started hooting. The cat, Phillis, stands up from her position on the couch, scrambling off to a quieter napping spot.

“Whatcha gonna do, Marty? Whatcha gonna do?” James taunted as Polly screamed in victory. Harry didn’t say anything, but was grinning wildly. Martha, surprisingly, just stood up and calmly left the room, and John thought they were safe, until he saw her coming at them with a pair of pink kiddie scissors.

They scattered.

 

* * *

 

Polly was terrified, to say the least. She’s not sure why exactly, and it’s not an outside force… It’s more like something’s wrong with her. 

Trying to analyze it is a nightmare. It’s as if… Her brain doesn’t like her body, or line up with it. Why? She’s mentally mature enough to know that everyone deserves respect, regardless of body type, and she isn’t particularly insecure about herself. So what’s up?

_ I’ll ask someone. Maybe Alex? He’s smart. Not as smart as Martha-as much as it hurts to admit that her sister’s actually intelligent-but he is from New York, so perhaps there’ll be a different view point. Sally’s from South Carolina, and when I asked her about it, she just brushed it off. Also, there’s nothing to lose from asking him. _

So now she’s here, stepping into the room that Alex and John are sharing. Peppa Pig’s creepy eyes stare her down from the corner, and she tears her gaze to the boy on the floor. Alex, who’s reading.

“Hey Pol.”

“Hey, um, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what’s up?” Alex looks up at that, setting down his book. So far, so good.

“So recently, I’ve been feeling… Weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Like, how do I describe this? As if my mind doesn’t match up with my body. Something’s wrong, but I don’t know what exactly?”

There’s a sudden understanding in Alex’s eyes, something clicks. Whatever she said must’ve been right in some form or another. 

“Polly, do you ever feel… Like you should be a boy?” 

Oh.

_ Oh _ .

How the tables have turned. Six words, and the world just righted itself. It makes sense now. Everything does.

“How do you know?” Alex bites his lip, as if trying to decide how to answer. 

“It’s common knowledge, up north. Called being transgender, if you want to do more research later.”

“I will. Thanks, Alex, I gotta go now.”

“No problem, I’ll cya later.” Polly gets up from the floor, leaves the room. Closes the door shut behind her, when a million others have opened.   
  
_ Transgender. _

Who knew a single word could change the world?

 

* * *

 

They’re laying in bed one night, when John contemplates about sleep patterns. Specifically, Alex’s. 

He’s always up in the late hours, and he makes it work by waking up late. Late being before noon, clocking in around six hours of sleep, with maybe a nap during the day if he’s doing something lazy. Alex works on his own schedule, he can wake up whenever the hell he wants.

He puts a lot of effort into editing his videos, and the uploading schedule he has is sporadic. Once every two weeks, maybe.

But if he works on his own time and makes no extra money, how does he afford rent and shit?

“Alex? Alex. Wake up.” John whispers into his bedroom, getting a pillow thrown at him for his troubles.

“I’m already up, dickhead. Whaddya want?”

“If you upload like, once every two weeks, where do you get the money for like, living?"

“One, if you don’t remember from the life story I dumped on you that one night while I was drunk, I spent my teenage years doing finances to afford, y’know, existence on the island. I’m really fucking good at money. Two, online surveys, and three, I do some freelance.”

“Ok, cool. I was wondering about it.”

“Alright, whatever. Cuddle me, I’m fucking cold.” Alex sits up, scooching over to the bed. John doesn’t verbally answer, just lifts up the covers to allow Alex to shuffle under, which he does.

“Hamilton, your feet are freezing.”

“Shut up and warm them then, idiot.”

“No-jesus fuck, I’m going to kick you out of my house.”

“You would not!”

“Watch me, bitch!”

 

* * *

  
  


Eventually, something had to give, and that thing was time. Day of Thanksgiving, they’re sat at the table, and John’s probably going to die.

He doesn’t even have a getaway car. Alex has to be at the table, and getting out of the driveway with all of their luggage would be more than difficult. So why did anyone think this was a good idea? Sure, it seemed like one. Easy enough when you’re not actually there, in the place, at the time. He could ruin the kids’ Thanksgiving.  _ They aren’t even kids anymore, John, get a hold of yourself. _

His hands are getting clammy, and the words are there, on the tip of his tongue, barbed and hanging on for dear life.  _ I have something to announce. _

Alex is looking at him from the corner of his eye, not expectantly, but curious. Curious, and empathetic. Not quite understanding. Hard as it is to say, Alex didn’t have a family to come out to. Only friends, those of which, in John’s experience, were significantly easier to come out to, because they were already vocal about their own sexualities. 

Looking around at his family, his life with them flashes before his eyes. It’s like he’s dying. Jesus Christ. When Martha wanted to put up the Christmas lights and nearly sent Dad to the hospital. The time Harry almost got flattened trying to reach a book on a high shelf-it’s the reason why they’re bolted to the wall now. When James needed help with his girlfriend’s anniversary gift, and they ended up going to the mall at 3:00 in the morning. Polly, and their painting sessions. Mom, who patched him back up after all his fights, indulged his shitty jokes. Dad, who would most likely disown him, who taught him how to make pecan pie and to ride a bike. All sitting around at a table for Thanksgiving, enjoying spending time together for once.

They were his family. Who was John, to come in and ruin that?

_ What will happen? _ The question repeats in his head, over and over. His heart begins to rush, anxiously. He keeps eating, though it feels hard to swallow. This is possibly more hellish than any aftermath.

_ I’m going to get disowned. I’ll never see my siblings again. Or the stupid cat. I’ll- _

The thoughts screech to a halt as Alex places a hand on his knee. Unexpected. Sudden. Grounding. 

_ You can do this. _

“Um. I have an announcement. One-one that’s been a long time coming.” All eyes snap to him. All eyes. Even Alex’s, who seems like he’s half expecting for John to joke and say that he’s bananasexual. Or not, maybe he’s just imagining things from the stress.

“This is-this is kind of hard to say, but I feel as if it’s important.” Silence.

“John, get to the point.” Harry rolls his eyes, and nobody bothers to shush him, which is a hint on its own that he should do as Harry says.

“I’m gay. As in, I like men.”

Silence. John glances over to his father, who appears frozen, only to stand up. His expression is unreadable, and he can feel everyone else’s gaze on him, burning into his skin. 

_ This was a mistake. _

“John, this is… A surprising announcement.” Dry, calculating. Wondering why his firstborn is such a failure,  why he can’t be a better example to his siblings. John nods in response, shame rising in his throat. Dad-or is it Henry, now? Clears his throat.

“I will be back, but I must… Consult God.” There’s a reason, beyond being southern, as to why John never came out before right now. Henry and Eleanor are devout Christians, it’s no question as to what they think of him now. _ Dirty. Queer. Fag. Sinner. _

Henry leaves the room, and all eyes are back on him. I can’t stay here.

“I’ll… I’ll be in my room.” Was it even his room anymore? Probably not. He pushes his chair back, and can hear Alex doing the same. Right as they’re about to exit, he hears Eleanor.

“Jacky? I… I still… I still love you. Your father just needs time.” John turns back around, tears welling up in his eyes. Harry gives him a small nod, James a thumbs up. Polly a smile, and Martha has nothing but fire in her eyes. The scene is so comforting that as he nods and leaves to go upstairs, the tear in his chest closes a little.

But really, it’s nothing compared to what Henry will gather from his God. What is family solidarity if they’ll be torn apart?

Knowing that they have his back just hurts all the more.

 

* * *

 

 

Henry stumbles into his study. Jacky. John. The son of Rosa. His son. A queer? It didn’t ever come to mind, he’s unprepared, there are no answers.

Yet, there are. 

He’s seen a lot in his lifetime. Accidents, always accidents. Through it all, Henry has known an answer for the aftermath. To ask God.

There was something comforting in His ever loving presence, the all knowing, ready to give him answers, who had a course of action, of life, laid out for him. Rosa’s death was heartbreaking, but she was in Heaven now. If not for her death, would he have ever met Eleanor? It was all for a reason.

So now he’s hunched over his desk, asking Him once more, and probably not for the last time.

_John likes men. God, what do I do? I am his father, but your word tells me that he's a sinner._

There’s nothing but the sentence in his head, repeating. Perhaps for once, even God doesn’t have the answers.

_ Look again. _

So Henry looks again, at his sentence, rearranges it and reforms it.

_ John God. Father. _

God, who loves John no matter what, before Rosa did, before Henry, and will always love John, because John is his child, and God his heavenly father.

Henry looks up, knows.

The Lord has set an example for him, and it’s Henry’s job to follow.

 

* * *

  
  


Alex is watching John pack up his suitcase, pretending not to notice the tears dripping onto the carpet. It’s better to leave him alone, for now.

There’s a knock at the door.

Or not.

John pushes himself off the floor as if the weight of the world’s on his back, his face set, like he’s going off to war. When he does open the door, Henry’s on the other side, and all Alex can do is watch as John leaves the room to talk in the hallway.

The biggest war, for Alexander, at least, is the waiting.

Another minute passes, maybe ten. He can’t tell, sitting on John’s bed with the Peppa Pig sheets they haven’t changed out yet. Maybe they’ll never get the chance. 

The door opens again, and John steps in.

Or maybe they will. 

The look of relief is tangible on John’s face, the shrug lost from his shoulders, and Alex stands up quickly, arms out wide as John stumbles into them.

“What’d he say?” He asks, quietly. There’s a peace in the room, one that entered in so quickly that Alex is reluctant to let it go. 

“Jesus came down and told him to love me, or some shit. I’m just,” John sniffles, but he’s not crying anymore. “I’m just really fucking relieved, y’know?”

“Yeah.”

Everything’s ok.

 

* * *

 

With John’s coming out crisis being solved, it’s only natural that they stumble into another one just as they’re about to leave. They’re loading their luggage into the car, when Henry approaches them.

“Jack, why didn’t you tell me that Alexander was your boyfriend?”

John’s head snaps up so fast, he hits the roof of the trunk. Ow,  _ fuck. _ Alex looks like he’s about to burst out laughing. Or cry. John really can’t tell. 

“Um, Dad, whaddya mean?” He and Alex had been acting like proper, “No Homo”, friends for the past two weeks,  _ where is this coming from? _

“Er, Martha showed me some videos from your channel, are you not? I want you to know it’s fine either way, um. Yes. I support you.” Henry scratches the back of his neck as John glares at Martha, who’s smiling innocently. Which is, of course, when Alex grabs his hand. 

_ Martha, you motherfucker. _

“We’re  _ definitely _ dating. Have been for a month. Hope that’s alright with you, Mr. Laurens.” Alex nods, and John’s aware of the corner he’s been backed into. Henry has a great impression of Alex, and John will just look like an asshole if he says they aren’t dating. So this is how they’re leaving his family, with them thinking that they’re dating. 

_ Alex. Alexander, light of my life. Why would you ever. You absolute shithead. _

“That’s wonderful! Jacky, Alexander is such a nice boy.” Eleanor pops up behind Henry, kissing John on the cheek. Alex grins like the shit he is, before popping the last bag in the back. 

“Well, I’d love to stay around more, but we’ve really got to get going if we want to make it back before it’s too late. Thank you for having us, was a pleasure.” A final thick layer of manners. Typical, but it was always good to leave a good last-impression.

His family comes up to hug him, one at a time. Henry gives him a two pat, Eleanor a squeeze. Nothing new. Polly comes up after that, then James, Harry, and finally, Martha. As they lean in, John hisses in her ear.

“Martha Laurens, you better explain what the fuck you just did there. Our entire family thinks that I’m dating my best friend.”

“Oh, you’re not?” Martha backs away, blinking, but it doesn’t hide the glint in her eye. Of course.

Goodbyes done, John hops into the passenger seat, waving out the window until they turn onto a different street. It’s been eventful, fun, and he can’t wait to get home.  _ After _ beating up Alex.

“Since we told your family that we’re dating, should we actually?”

Speaking of.

“You little shit, I was just about dying there and you just grab my hand!”

“Hey, don’t hit the driver!”

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all, some notes? hell if I know. originally, the chapter was going to include the road trip to SC, but I thought it would be better to break it up a little. the road trip gets repetitive. also it's two days before thanksgiving. so i gotta move fast, because there's the obligatory christmas fic i gotta do but everything is hard to type because my middle finger is bandaged up to hell. so welcome to this fic where i realized these boys have no character other than liking eachother a lot.


End file.
